Page 71 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Suddenly, she yelped. “Ow!”
She took a step back, a small, deliberate stride. He stilled his feet.
“My apologies,” he said quietly. “But you cannot say I did not provide fair warning.”
Shaking her head, she met his eyes again. “I should not have reacted in that manner. After all, youaremaking progress.”
“And if I disagree with your assessment?”
“I’d say you were wrong. Youaremoving with the music. Youarekeeping the rhythm. The rest…will come in time.”
“In time, eh? I’ll be as ancient as a mummy in a crypt and I’ll still be treading on your toes.”
A smile that reached her dark eyes tipped the corners of her mouth. She was trying to encourage him. Bloody shame his body’s response had nothing to do with blastedone-two-three,one-two-three.
“Shall we try again?” Valiantly, she began to count again, urging him back into the dance.
Only a cad could deny her when she looked at him like that. So hopeful he’d move just the right way and not pummel her delicate feet in the process. If she was willing to take the risk, who was he to refuse to go on?
He led her in the waltz, smoother this time. But with movements so mechanical, a puppet with tangled strings might have been more graceful. How was it that he could perform surgery to remove a bullet, but he lacked the coordination to master a simple dance step?
The problem likely wasn’t with his coordination. Not entirely, at least. The problem lay in his motivation. He didn’t give a damn about stepping in tempo with the waltz. Or his ability to count to three over and over again, like some maddening litany. No, the blood surging through his body had stirred a hunger deep within, a longing he felt to the marrow—a longing that had nothing to do with the orchestra’s precisely played notes.
Peering down at her, drinking in the subtle smile on her lips, the delight in her eyes at her pupil’s smallest sign of progress, he wanted nothing more than to caress her, to touch every inch of the soft curves that tantalized him.
Nothing more than male instinct, he tried to tell himself.
But he knew better.
He’d held other women. He’d kissed other women. None of them had kindled such a hunger.
A desire for a woman he should not want. Could not want.
But he did.
He wanted her. In his arms. In his bed.
He wanted Grace.
Like a madness for which there was no cure, the yearning to taste her passion kindled from a spark to a blaze.
An impulse careened through him.
Definitely unwise. Definitely one he should rethink.
“Grace, I meant what I said earlier.”
“Referring to your mule-like grace? Or your oxen-like dancing ability?”
“No.” He spoke the word, not so much as the answer to her question, but as a warning to himself.
“No?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Then what do you mean?”
“The way you look tonight…can be attributed to the woman wearing the gown, and not the gown itself.”
Once again, her top teeth grazed her full lower lip. “I…I don’t understand.”
He slid his other arm around her and pulled her close. She was soft and pliant in his arms. And she looked up at him, wide-eyed and questioning.
